


Gray Ink

by Pearlybj



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, Grooming, Hand Jobs, Incest, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pon Farr, Somnophilia, Supernatural Elements, enthusiastic dirt, heckin crap i forgot to tag this incest, small dose of angst and hurts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2019-10-08 03:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17378894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearlybj/pseuds/Pearlybj
Summary: Bro is trying his best but is terrible at everything and may in fact be a maniac. Needy, illegal sex or kissing in every chapter, guaranteed or your money back.User clamdiver helped me a lot with this, go check them out <3





	1. Chapter 1

There’s smoldering ash, a fire. Bro breathes it in. It’s soft and, no he was dreaming. He’s being kissed. Quiet, little whines follow a tongue against his palate. A man hasn’t been this gentle with him since… god, never. It feels too much like affection for a one night stand. Bro grabs the man by the hair, pulls him in for a harder kiss.

 

Squeak.

 

Bro freezes. He didn’t invite anyone over last night, and the body against him is tiny, too thin to be healthy. He sits up, completely awake now, and pushes the guy off of him.

 

_ “John?” _

 

He immediately has a lot of thoughts at once scrambling for his attention.

 

Some part of him notes that he’s suddenly a lot more aroused than he was before. A bigger part of him tosses that fact to the bottom of the queue for his currently running what-the-fuck protocol to read later.

 

Dave, he has one friend; it’s this kid. The boys are having a little sleepover tonight.

 

...Where did John learn to kiss like that, hell  _ Bro himself _ hasn’t had many kisses like that. Maybe a stripper he met in Seattle? And the engineer in New York. Someone is responsible for this, for teaching this to the kid.

 

Piano lessons, school, the malt shop he goes to with Dave, _ shit, _ the kid is pretty much glued to Dave’s side most days, did something happen to Dave too?

 

Bro is absolutely gonna murder someone.

 

While his brain is running like an out of control train, John shifts awkwardly under his gaze.

 

“Broooooooo, I wasn’t done yet.”

 

What?

  
John doesn’t wait for his stuttering brain to break from its angry stupor and kisses him again. Bro is fully aware of how the deep sense of wrong-no-stop makes him more excited, of the moment he hesitates before pushing John off of him again. Shit.    
  
Bro is all the way in the kitchen downing a glass of water before the kid even realizes he’s alone.

 

When Bro has his head on straight, he gets a second glass of water in a little green cup.

 

All in all, his meltdown only lasted a couple of minutes. John is still sitting on the couch where Bro left him, looking awful nervous. The cup of water is offered to the child. He takes it happily.

 

John downs half the cup. “Thanks. Your mouth is super gross.”

 

Wow, thanks kid. Morning breath was a killer for morning-after sex; he already knew that.

 

“Need some more water, kid? A bowl of Doritos?” The perfect comfort food.

 

“Noooooooo, I don’t want chips. I’m real-hungry not pretend-hungry.”

 

Or not.

 

“Sure, ‘lil man. I know a few places we can order takeout at- shit, 3 A.M. Don’t repeat that word, by the way. Your dad will have my head.” Shit, he’s gonna have to call John’s dad. And the police. Wake Dave up. He returns to the kitchen to use his phone in private.

 

This couldn’t wait until morning. The perp will make an attempt to kill John, possibly Dave too, once they know they’re at risk of being identified. Dave could take most adults in a fair fight, but Bro would prefer he avoids any fights in the first place. Self defense is a last resort. If the perp is angling for a kill, it ain’t gonna be a fair fight either.

 

That’s right.

 

Dave is a stubborn motherfucker with a keen eye for trouble. Either the perp knows exactly how to distract him, or Dave isn’t around during the incidents. Bro has to believe that much, that he can protect his own boy. He’s made a lot of mistakes at every turn, makes things real shitty for everyone involved, but he isn’t a failure.

 

Dave woulda told him if something happened, right?

 

Fuck, he has no idea what he’s doing. He’s gotta call John’s dad, before he can really tumble down the rabbit hole of panic rond deux.

 

Bro feels a tug on his pant leg. He looks down.

 

John is scared, terribly scared of who knows what he expects to happen to him. Tears glaze over his blue eyes. He sees nothing through them, staring instead at some terror only know to him.

 

“Bro, I’m  _ really _ hungry.”

 

Very slowly, Bro closes Egbert’s contact info and sets down the phone.

 

John only started losing weight a month ago, but the kid’s always been small for his age; he doesn’t eat enough.  _ Fucking hell, why did it take him so long to notice. _

 

Bro kneels on the tile so he’s eye to eye with the kid.

 

“Is that why you kissed me?”

 

The kid nods.

 

“Did Dad tell you to do this?”

 

Looks real startled. Doesn’t meet his eyes.

 

“...No. Dad said you wouldn’t feed me.”

 

Bro cusses under his breath.  _ “Motherfucker. _ We can get whatever you want, kid. Do you still want takeout?”

 

Another no, this time whispered. Hesitant.

 

Bro is never going to forgive himself for this. He shoulda seen it, shoulda known. But John doesn’t look like the vulnerable type. He’s a total brat, has lots of friends, talks with the teacher everyday. Talks about his “super cool” Dad that loves the circus.

 

John doesn’t have any visible marks when Bro takes the boys to the pool. Maybe his upper thighs and ass? Should he check?

 

Idiot, John already thinks Bro is willing to kiss him or worse. That’d only make him more scared.

 

Carefully, Bro tries to explain, “It’ll be okay, kid. Ye don’t need to do me favors or nothin’. Yell at me, kick me, scream, it’s fine. I’ll still buy ye some good food when you visit me n’ Dave, a’right? You don’t need to do anythin’ for that. No kisses, no touchin’.”

 

“No kisses?” the kid echoes.

 

Bro thinks back and carefully considers what he woulda wanted to hear when he was a kid, in the middle of his own nightmare.

 

“I’m here for you, man. If anyone hurts you, talk to old Dirk. I’ll take care of it.”

 

John nods, sits down on the floor, and starts bawling. Bro pats his back stiffly and gives him a sort-of sideways hug.

 

The kid doesn’t say another word and lets Bro feed him a bowl of noodles. Hopefully he’s full enough for now.

 

Bro tucks John in with too many pillows and blankets, taking up the whole couch with fluff. That leaves the old man without a bed for the night, but it doesn’t matter. He won’t be sleeping. There’s too much to do.


	2. Chapter 2

First thing on the list; extreme apartment makeover, twenty-four hour edition. As things are, child services will take away John  _ and _ his own kid if they see this mess.

 

Dirk boxes up his favorite sex toys and toss the rest. If anyone asks, only a single tear was shed. So many lovely smuppets meeting an early end.

 

Next is the weapons. The nicer items get polished and set in a velvet case in the closet while the rest are tossed in the attic. Far back in the attic, out of sight. Before he forgets, he pilfers a few more shitty swords from Dave’s room. Kid sleeps like a dead sloth; he doesn’t even have to be stealthy.

 

Obscene posters come off the walls. Power cords are run along the ceiling instead of the floor (like Dave would ever trip on a measly cord.) Exposed wiring and electronics gets trimmed, taped, or boxed (alright, he shoulda done that anyways.)

 

The apartment is effectively childproofed when Bro dumps his last bottle of lithium solution down the drain. He spends another hour scrubbing any surface with visible fake blood.

 

Five thirty A.M., Bro leaves Lalonde a message. 

 

_ I need the site down without a trace by noon today. In exchange, do whatever you want with me New Years Day, all 24 hours. _

 

_ oh, u no i luv a bargain. r we talkin clean the multidimensional goop from rosies closet kinda service or more like a “proposition” _

 

He doesn’t answer. She already knows exactly what he means.

 

Six rolls around; he shouts until John and the lil birdbrain are up and kicking for school. Dave rubs his eyes a few times and pinches himself. The apartment is still clean. He wasn’t dreaming.

 

He shines a light in Bro’s eye and snaps a finger by the man’s ear. “Holy shit, John look. Cal finally replaced Bro with a perfect copy. I think he’s an alien.”

 

“Shut it, kid. Go change and grab yer bag. You can dick around with yer E.T. manual when my foot ain’t about to drop kick yer ass.”

 

“Damn, never mind. It’s still him.” Dave gets flicked on the forehead.

 

Maybe if Bro bribes the kid with a new computer, he can convince Dave not to swear in front of child services.

 

Unlike his own kid, John acts like nothing happened. He chats with Dave and tries to dump a bucket of water on Bro. The man almost believes John is fine until he catches the kid clutching his stomach with a pained expression.

 

Bro makes the executive decision to leave early. He buys burgers from a little diner for the boys before dropping them off at school.

 

Quarter to eight, he texts Egbert.

 

_ I made the runts do homework instead of uniting the triforce last night. John asked if he can stay over again to finish. I’m game if you are. _

 

_ To clarify, they want to play a video game. _

 

As far as Bro can remember, Egbert has never once said no after John requested something, and this is no different. 

 

_ OF COURSE. I AM SO PROUD OF HIM FOR WORKING HARD. HE DESERVES A REWARD. _

 

Until yesterday, Bro thought he was a spoiled brat. He knows better now.

 

Next item on the list is a pain reverberating straight through Bro’s ass up to his skull. Shopping gives him a migraine, but he gets the props he needs to look like a classically functional household. Actual dishware, groceries, a garbage can.

 

He’s probably missing something else. After he takes a goddamn aspirin, he can come back. For now, he plans on stowing the perishables and hitting up the police station. He’ll bring his paperwork from when he fostered and adopted his brother; John might be able to stay with him instead of being dumped in some shithole.

 

Bro gets back to the apartment with an armful of fruit and a head full of tiny jackhammers. Maybe it’s the latter, maybe it’s the lack of sleep. He doesn’t notice a thing until he’s ass deep in the den of the lioness.

 

There’s a man sitting on his sofa. Clean shaven, tousled dark hair, crisp suit. Egbert. Shit, did he already realize something happened, that Bro was lying about the kid staying over again? What the fuck was he doing here?

 

“Mr. Strider, I wanted to check in-”

 

Bro drops the groceries and reaches for the nearest sword.  _ God damn it all,  _ he put away all the weapons that were stashed in the coat rack. Instead, he lifts up the rack itself and charges without a second thought.

 

Egbert has no trouble whatsoever parrying a blow from the makeshift bat with his bare hands. He struggles a little more when Bro swings a butter knife, a steel-toed boot, a dildo (that was supposed to be put away) in a fraction of a second. Striders are fast. 

 

The intruder blinks, looking surprised but overall unhurt. Pile of scum is built like a motherfuckin tank. He reaches into his jacket pocket.

 

Bro is fully expecting a gun. He caught a child molester in the act, and he’s gonna be silenced before he can say a word. Panic. His body reacts. Crouch down. Grab one of the new forks. One practiced motion, extend his arm and flick his wrist. The utensil makes its home in the intruder’s left eye.

 

Egbert splutters and drops the pipe from his hand. He probes his face with shaking fingers. He looks scared and confused, exactly like John did last night.

 

Doubt. What if Bro is wrong, he has the wrong guy. He just went full attackbot out of nowhere and Egbert is here to drop off a change of clothes for his son or some shit. Maybe he still doesn’t know a thing about his precious child and the abuse.

 

That’s all it takes.

 

A moment of hesitation, and suddenly Bro hits the ground hard. His arm is pinned behind him painfully, and a boot is planted on his back. Egbert presses on his arm experimentally. He yells.

 

There’s a sickening, wet sound, then the fork clatters to the floor.

 

“Mr. Strider, I do hope you aren’t quite this inhospitable with my son.”

 

Bro decides to risk his shoulder and rolls his hip. While Egbert is unbalanced, Bro gets his knees under himself. He has the rest of the motions planned in his head- hook Egbert’s inside leg, roll through the shoulder, aim for a kneebar.

 

He isn’t expecting the man to reach an arm under him, move in close- Egbert’s whole side is exposed to attack.

 

_ “Don’t resist.” _

 

He was… he was doing something with his leg. He can’t remember. Bro kicks aimlessly and meets with air. A weight presses against his body and his neck. His memory is jostled when they speak.   
  


“Where is John?”

 

Bro makes a weak attempt to shake off Egbert, but his arms are clumsy, like he’s moving a puppet instead of his own limbs.

  
“Where is he?”

 

Bro spits, “Ger off me, ye sewer fuckin’ scum.”

 

“Mr. Strider, I’ve no patience left. Explain your intentions with the message you sent immediately. You gave me false information; my son always comes home.”

 

“Fuck off. Kid’s not a dog heelin’.”

 

The intruder presses his hip into Bro’s ass, leans real close and commands,  _ “Tell me where he is.” _

 

Bro is aware of the carpet ‘neath his fingers, the man rubbing against his back, but it’s not important. There’s something… a question. He has to answer a question. The kid.

 

“John is at school.”

 

There’s a hand at his waistline, fingers dipping in his jeans. It doesn’t mean anything, it’s not important. The question is important.

 

“Gotta get the paperwork fer fosterin’ turned over. John’s gonna come back to the apartment. He stays here, decent place. No one can lay a finger on him unless they kill old Dirk.“

 

Answer the question. Why is he in danger again?

 

Reality snaps back with the force of a charging boar. Bro knocks the man loose. Egbert lands on his ass, and he just sits there, completely stunned.

 

Bro takes quick stock. Nothing broken or dislocated. Comprehension and logical reasoning back to high capacity, no traces of compulsion remaining. The front of his briefs are sticky and there’s a sore spot on his neck. Fuckin’ great.

 

He swallows down the humiliation.

  
  
  
  
  


“Didn’ think there were any demons in this part of the state,” Bro states. It’s not a question. Egbert has a track of fresh blood dripping from his lashes, but his eye is healed. Good as new. Not to mention the freaky sex hypnosis or whatever the hell that shit was.

 

“Foster…? My son is safe? He’s not hurt at all?”

 

“Get the fuck out of my apartment.”

 

Egbert takes a deep breath and stands up. He dusts off his pants and dabs at his eye with a tissue.

 

“Mr. Strider, why on earth did you strike at me just now if you hadn’t any foul intentions? You had me in quite a panic.”

 

“You know exactly what ye did. Get out.”

 

Egbert walks toward the door but stops halfway. Delicately, he kneels and starts picking up the groceries. Bro watches him closely.

 

Most of the goods are placed on the counter. The stuff that’s ruined goes in the brand new trash can. Egbert washes his hands and looks towards Bro. Man clearly has a lot to say.

 

He leaves silently.

  
  
  


Water pounds against the tiles. Each drop is clean of scum, has been for an hour. The feeling of unease never washes away.

 

Dirk has his eyes squeezed shut. He’s beyond frustrated, he’s pissed with himself. No amount of self-examination has convinced him forking Egbert in the eye was a good idea. If he can’t even keep himself out of stupid situ-fuckin’-ations in his own damn house, he doesn’t have a chance in hell of keeping John and Dave out of trouble in the city.

 

He’s told his kid a million times. Do not escalate, never escalate. A fight avoided is a fight won. But he still fought. Completely fuckin’ lost it. The crazed mama grizzly, it is him.

 

There are worse things to be. 

 

Dirk still feels shame rooted in his gut, still feels dirtied and foul, but for now he’s satisfied and turns off the shower.

  
  


One P.M., Bro stares at his silent phone like the thing is going to hop up and start galloping around the room if he leaves it be. He should call this shitpile in. Drop by the station. Get some work done. Text Dave. 

 

He doesn’t. There isn’t a plan anymore. There are so many unknown factors. He leaves his phone and climbs the stairs to the roof. Always a good idea to work off stress before the kid gets home. Remain the cool adult, don’t lose his shit in front of Dave.

 

Two thirty, and it’s Bro’s last chance to text Dave. His kid needs to invite John over. Otherwise, John will take a bus home to the father that refuses to feed him properly. He might go without dinner while Bro digs into a nice, greasy pizza with Dave.

 

Worse, he might get dinner and be forced to “work” for it.

 

The phone remains untouched on the counter. Forty minutes pass, and the front door clicks. Dave walks in and tucks a key in his pocket.

 

“Are you kidding me, it’s even cleaner than it was this morning.”

 

Dave drops his bag and shoes in a newly-empty corner and flops on the couch.

 

“Did you get a real girlfriend, Bro, is that what this is about?”

 

Bro walks into the kitchen without answering. He took a bottle of apple juice from the fridge and rotated quick on his heel, toss, Dave has no trouble catching the projectile. Why would he? Tiny freak could throw a pitch twice as fast even before he could walk.

 

“Holy shit, you moved the food out of the stash? Bro. Bro, how pretty is your girlfriend exactly, is she a movie star?”

 

He answers this time. “Nah. Stash is still all stocked for apocalypses or whatever; I ain’t insane.”

 

Dave rolls his eyes. “She have a lot of money? Is it clean or dirty money? Oh my god, she’s gonna buy you a new daughter that gets better grades than me and wears frilly skirts.”

 

That earns him a light shove. “Ain’t a woman under the ozone ‘d come between me ‘n my best man. Another man, though, I’ll drop ye in a heartbeat.”

 

The kid flips him off and starts to leave.

 

“Hey.”

 

Dave stops. Without looking, he asks flatly, “What.”

 

“Got a sec?”

 

“God, we are not doing this right now.”

 

“Hell yeah we are. Try not to burn yer panties off, kid.”

 

Dave groans and walks back. Another groan and he sets his juice down, leaps up onto the counter. Sitting up there, he’s closer to eye level with his Bro. Kid still has a lot of growing in his future.

 

“I promise I didn’t mess with Lil’ Cal,” Dave swears.

 

“Nah, Cal woulda told me, not that. Y’ remember the rules?” Bro clears his throat, focuses on enunciating. “What do you do when someone touches your safety spots?”

 

“Oh my god.”

 

The man crosses his arms, stares blankly at his kid.

 

“Just say my dick, also screw you.”

 

“Wrong answer.” Bro whaps him upside the head.

 

“Ow, fine! Talk to you, my teacher, and one other old person.”

 

“And?”

 

“And if it was you or my teacher, talk to the other two. Can I go now? I have times tables to do.”

 

“‘S called multiplication and no. Has John or his Dad ever said or done anythin’ to make ye think one of ‘em ain’t human?”

 

Dave stares at him, really stares hard with this stupidly exasperated face before face palming.

 

He tells his big brother, “You’re stupid. Go take a nap, old man.”

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Bro. John has fangs and a fluffy little tail bob, did you seriously not notice? We’ve been friends forever.”

 

What.

 

“He’s got what.” Bro woulda noticed. He makes a point of never looking at the kids asses, gotta be appropriate, and all runts are nasty little chompers. So. Uh. Goddamn, his brain is completely stuttering here.

 

Dave sighs dramatically and says, “He’s a cambion. Everyone knows. The people in my class know, our teacher knows. We even got this little pamphlet about it. Not that you’d know, you never read the pamphlets.”

 

The kid hops off the counter. “I’m doing my homework now. Don’t bug me.” He slams his bedroom door.

 

Dirk sits down on a stool and cradles his head. Damn, his migraine is coming back. He doesn’t need to dig up the fucking pamphlet to know what it says. Half-demons are friendly! They won’t cause any harm to you or your children, so please don’t poke them with a wooden stake.

 

Egbert doesn’t feed his son properly. The kid lives off of sexual energy, and he’s not getting enough. Jesus Christ.


	3. Chapter 3

Over the next two weeks, a few of the dildos make their way back out, the fridge slowly empties. The kid asks to play with John a few dozen times, but it doesn’t happen. Bro is pretty sure Egbert suspects him of being homicidal at this point, so John ain’t comin’ to his apartment any time soon, and Bro still isn’t entirely certain whether the older man would mess with Dave after what happened. He hasn’t yet, Bro believes that much from what the kid said, but who fuckin’ knows. Dude was reasonably fuckin’ pissed after the whole incident with his eye.

 

Dave gets prickly. The extra alone time means he talks to himself more, somehow finds even more dead shit to hoard on his shelves. He also wastes thrice as much food and other random recyclable shit now that they have a real trash can in the kitchen; he doesn’t have to walk all the way downstairs to throw junk away. Probably time to fix things.

 

The kid asks if he and John can go and see some shitty adventure movie this weekend, please, he’s gonna get strangled to death by physically manifested loneliness if this movie doesn’t happen.

 

Bro texts Egbert’s PDA to suggest they get lunch while the kids are at the theater. He gets a vehement scolding in reply. Apparently the kids are at least five years too young for that. Egbert then oh so generously (piece of shit) offers to chaperone for them.

 

New plan, get a third person involved? Who was neutral enough for this situation? No babysitter has lasted more than an hour of Dave’s company. Bro even hired a professional bodyguard once, a guy that’s usually in charge of the young son of a mafia head. To this day, Bro still has no idea what Dave did to him. Ah, well. There was a rough patch, Bro started working from home, things worked out.

 

Maybe he could get Egbert to meet with him during school hours. The guy worked a nine to five, would it be rude to ask? It’s probably rude. Shit, he is lacking in the social aspect of parenting.

 

The pesky runts solve the problem for him. One afternoon, Bro is prepping a unit test for some shitacular software, and Dave comes stomping into the apartment. He doesn’t look particularly happy to be home from school, he’s agitated, throws his shit on the ground, yells “roof” and goes right back out the door.

 

Fuck, is the kid actually that pissed about something? Friday is supposed to be a day off from strifing. Best day of the week, and Dave is acting like a spider crawled up his asshole, tied up his stomach, and died.

 

Bro snatches a sword and heads up, locking the door behind him. As soon as he steps off of the topmost landing to the roof, his alarm goes off. Someone is in the apartment. Bro swears and checks his phone. His server has a pic logged of the intruder’s face.

 

The person in the photo is small, with wild hair and a pretty, round face.

 

Jesus dick, his dumb kid actually tried to sneak a friend over  _ past Bro. _ Maybe Dave is too hairbrainned for the fuckin’ movie theater after all.   
  
Bro darts forward and gives Dave a pretty solid strike to the shoulder.

 

“Get yer ass back downstairs.”

 

“Ow. No, we’re strifing, man.”

 

“Now. And give John a glass of water; i’s hot as balls out. Go.”

 

A terrified expression fixes itself on Dave’s face. Kid skedaddles faster than a cheetah with his ass on fire. Bro sighs and pulls out his phone, calls one of three contacts on his shortlist.

 

Egbert answers on the third ring. “Good afternoon, this is Daedalus speaking. Just Dad is fine.”

 

Bro grunts, “You do have caller ID there, Dad.”

 

Shit, don’t make another jab. Do not at any point say Daddy, just call him Egbert. You’re stronger than this, Strider.

 

“May I help you with something?” Even over the crappy excuse for a phone the man has, Egbert has a crisp voice.

 

“Nah, but ye should pro’bly come grab yer kid. My brat jus’ snuck him into my apartment, thought I wouldn’ notice. Security system caught him.”

 

“Oh, dear. Is he alright? He’s not hurt or upset? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

“Slow down, Egbert. He’s fine. I can handle him for an hour or two. No need to be skippin’ out on the office like a bad hookup over this one.” Dammit, Strider, stop talking.

 

“...I see. If you’re alright with that, I shall stop by at five.”   
  
“Yeah.” Bro pauses for a moment. He is fully aware that he should bring up the incident with the eye forking. Own up to shit like a goddamn adult, take responsibility for the situation; Dave shouldn’t be lonely ‘cause his guardian is an idiot. “Hey, Egbert?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Sorry if Dave’s been a bit of a shit, convincin’ John to sneak out and all the other bullshit they’ve gotten up to. Tha’s all on me; Dave’s a good kid.”

 

The man chuckles and says, “Not a worry at all. He’s very polite and hardworking. I’ve never had any trouble with him.”

 

Bro sighs. Figures the old-fashioned jackass would wave the apology off as though it was nothing.

 

“Ye sure? Kid has never listened to another ‘rent before. Pyrope didn’ let him back over after the first time, an’ he broke yer table last month.”

 

“Oh, it’s nothing much really. The boys cleaned it up and apologized.”

 

“Right.”

 

Egbert has the patience of a saint- there’s a joke to be made there, but Bro will have to keep it to himself for once. He  _ has  _ to fix this for Dave.

 

“If that’s all, I shall see you shortly.”

  
  
  
  


The boys are in the kitchen. They look on edge, terrified and close to being sick, like someone is trying to force feed them live spiders. Bro sighs.

 

“Kid, Dad will be here at five. Try not to get lost again between now and then. Yer gonna give the old man early heart failure. He worries ‘bout ye more than mama rooster ‘n the chicks.”

 

He turns to his own kid. “Soon as John leaves, yer fuckin’ grounded, got it? Better find some puzzles or somethin’ cause ye sure as hell ain’t going within slapping distance of the Xbox.”

 

When he doesn’t say anything more, both kids let out a deep breath. He sees the cogs spinning behind Dave’s eyes. Kid is considering how much to push his luck if he’s not officially grounded yet.

 

Bro kneads his temple and answers the unspoken question. “Ye only got two hours. Don’ waste it starin’ at the ceiling plaster. Get goin’.”

 

John and Dave scramble for the kitchen door.

 

Bro glances at Egbert’s kid from behind his shades. Now that he’s looking for it, he spots a small bump under John’s shirt at the base of his spine. Bro isn’t surprised he missed it before; it really isn’t noticeable compared to the kid’s plump ass. The sort of round shape that’s nice to the touch; probably standard equipment for a cambion.

 

“Eyes up top, or we’re both gonna be in trouble,” Dave tells Bro. Fuck, shit, why’d he teach the kid how to read body language and line of sight so well? To save his ass in a fight, but that was a rhetorical question.

 

“You wanna be grounded right now, lil’ man?”

 

“Fuck off, I’m going.”

  
  
  


There’s a hint of choppiness to his movements; Dirk stiffens up when he’s anxious. No one ever notices the difference save for Dave. Security cam on the front door of the apartment building just caught Egbert; he’ll be up to the penthouse any second.

 

Bro isn’t sure what to expect; the man sounded worried but relatively calm over the phone. Still, he’s prepared to step in if Dave gets blamed for this. Considering the strange fuckin booby traps Egbert deploys on his front step, it could go any direction. (Exploding cans of shaving cream, really?)

 

He thought he was prepared anyways. Knock, knock.   
  
Bro opens the door to a cake. Dad has a bag slung over his shoulder and a big square goddamn cake in a disposable aluminum pan. A brief apology is written on it in gold frosting. Dirk has absolutely no idea what to say or do. He stands frozen, staring.

 

“Good evening, Mr. Strider.”

 

“Sup?”

 

Egbert holds his arms out, offers the cake. “I am terribly sorry for overstepping your boundaries when we previously spoke. John informed me of what happened and that you weren’t aware of our lifestyle or nature. I realize now you had his best interest in mind. Thank you for looking out for him.”

 

“Right.”

 

Bro’s tongue is heavy in his mouth. 

 

“Really, Mr. Strider, I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I hope that we may at least be able to reconcile to a small degree. My son really does favor Dave out of his friends, and it would be reprehensible for my own shortcomings to negatively impact his social circle. I understand it will also take time to reconcile John’s nature with the boy you know and you may not trust him immediately, but I assure you he’s very kind and would never consider taking advantage of yourself or your brother, please don’t-”

 

Okay no panicking now. Bro interrupts him, “How the hell did you make a cake so fast? It smells like orange coke.”

 

Egbert clears his throat. “Ah, yes, it's a pop cake. John said orange pop is a constant for you. I recommend refrigerating it so it doesn’t spoil.”

 

“Never heard of it before, but fuck if it doesn’t sound amazin’.” Bro takes the pan and adds, “ ‘Pology accepted. Let’s call it even, yeah?”

 

He can’t believe Egbert isn’t mad at him. Easy out, he’ll take it. He carries the cake to the kitchen and stuffs it in the fridge with the few remaining groceries. (The thing is drowning in cream, it looks delicious. Bonus loot.)

 

Dad is left standing in the doorway dumbfounded. “Mr. Strider?”

 

“Ye let yerself in last time; come on in, man,” Bro calls from the kitchen. He throws a pot of coffee on, light roast. Egbert likes it strong. Are cambions even affected by caffeine?

 

The man joins him in the kitchen.

 

“Thank you for your kindness, Mr. Strider. If you don’t mind, regarding any preconceptions you might have about my son’s diet; well, I know it’s very hard for most people to understand his sexual needs-“

 

Bro interrupts him again. “I run a porn site, distribute some toys, do a few independent contracts. Can’t get a real job with the kid, so it’s all sex shit and software sold for mine and Dave’s grocery budget. Ye wanna talk preconceptions, Egbert? After years of not givin’ me any shit or nothin’. Smells like a cow’s ass if ye ask me.”

 

Dad winces at his crude language then smiles.

 

“I suppose not, Mr. Strider. Thank you. You’re very kind.”

 

Dirk snorts. He can’t even remember the last time someone thought he was nice. (Twenty-four, it was Roxy.)

 

They have coffee together. Bro feels exhausted even though Dad was the one that said the real hard stuff. The pot is empty by the time they’re done chatting.

 

“Well, ye reckon the kids wanna have a lil playdate sometime?”

 

“Oh, we’d love to have Dave over this weekend. Perhaps I could take them for ice cream and that movie.”

 

“This weekend?”

 

Well, shit. Apparently John isn’t getting punishment of any kind for this stunt. Bro takes back his previous take-back: John is a spoiled brat. No doubt on that front.

 

Bro says, “Nah, Dave ain’t allowed to leave the house for a while.” 

 

“Of course. Would you prefer to have John over as a guest then? I have some overnight things and toiletries for him here.”

 

Well, that completely destroys the point of grounding. Spoiled. Brat.

 

Fuck it.

 

“Yeah, that’d be tight. I’ll go grab John for ye quick.”

 

He quicksteps to Dave’s room.

 

“Kid. Go give Dad a fuckin’ hug or somethin’. Old man is lettin’ ye spend the night, you better be grateful.”

 

The boys light up from the inside out. Dave is too busy bunping John and drives right off a cliff in his game. John jumps up and skips out the door, bouncier than a rabbit in heat.

 

Dave says, “Since when do you do hugs?”

 

“The Egberts do hugs, and I ain’t about to ruin their fuzzy fuckin’ family vibes. ‘Sides, I can do hugs,” Bro said.

 

“I’m not as stupid as you. I know you only get touchy for whores.”

 

Bro went stiff, took one jerky step into the room. “Dave, are you actually aware of what that word means?”

 

His little brother once again resumes the spider-eating face. “I- no, I made it up. It’s like a boar. But hairy?”

 

Kid actually thinks he’d believe that.

 

“Well I better not hear yer real mouth sayin’ it again, or I’ll kick your ass. For real. Got it? That’s rude. No gentle fuckin’ man would be caught talking like that.”

 

“Yeah- Yes, we’re good, I got you.”

  
  
  
  


Dad leaves, and the kids play for hours- right through dinner. Bro leaves them a pile of sliders at six thirty and makes them get ready for bed at nine. Usually, Dave would insist he gets one more hour and no less, but John seems to think getting ready for bed is real important. Kid is a good influence. 

 

Eleven PM, Bro is eating a slice of cake when one of the kids gets up to use the restroom. In the otherwise silent apartment, Bro hears a clang, some rustling, cupboards opening and closing. He sets down his little slice of heaven and approaches the bathroom.

 

Knock, knock. “Everything chill here?”   
  
It goes silent.

 

He knocks again. Bang, bang. “Hey?”

 

John is the one that answers.

 

“It’s fine!”

 

The toilet flushes, and the sink runs. John opens the door and tries to dart past Bro. He doesn’t make it very far considering he’s covering both of his eyes. He trips over his own feet, makes a real good effort at planting his face in the carpet. Bro catches him.

 

“Hey. You wanna talk in the kitchen, kid? Dave sleeps heavier than an elephant’s rear end, so he prolly won’t wake up.”

 

“O-okay.”

 

John lowers his hands. His eyes are red at the edges.

 

“Can you get yer tiny feet under yer butt or do I need to carry ye?”   
  
“Carry me please?”   
  
Well. That line always got Dave to stand up. Guess it didn’t work on spoiled brats. Sighing, Bro lifts John and rests the kid against his hip, walks them to the kitchen. Kid is on the light side for his age. Bro has no trouble swinging John around and setting him on the counter.

 

One small glass of water and a packet of gushers later, and John is wearing a shaky smile.

 

“A’right. What ‘er ye lookin’ for in the bathroom, kiddo? I know I got enough cleaner for a few homebaked explosives, but you know the rules. Gotta have a supervisor for anything like that, just like a real demolitionist.”

 

John flails his hands about.   
  
“No! Nothing like that, bombs are scary, promise.”

 

Bro doesn’t comment, gives John a moment to think, hopefully even answer. Instead, John asks, “Do you hate me? Dave says you hate Dad now, too.”

 

“Christ, no. Why would ye even think that? You’re a cool kid. And so is yer Dad, got it? That pop cake was the sweetest thing I got since Dave made me a fortune knot for my birthday.” Granted the knot barely resembled anything of the sort and had a few crow feathers attached to it that Bro is pretty sure got plucked from live birds. But hey. It was neat.

 

John plays with the handle of his cup, eyes unfocused. “Sometimes I do bad things.”

 

Bro wants to stuff the kid with more gushers; being filled up with the sticky stuff is usually the easiest way to make John feel better. Instead he listens. “Yeah?”

 

“I’m sorry for borrowing your toys without asking!”   
  
Uh.   
  
“It’s fine, man. As long as you didn’t cut yourself on accident with a throwing star or something. Just don’t do it again. And… Thanks for telling me?”

 

John says, “Not the throwing stars. The long ones; I don’t know what they’re called. They’re like hotdogs except real food instead of pretend-food.”

 

Real food for a cambion.

 

Fucking hell, Bro is the worst guardian, he deserves to have Dave snatched away any minute. He asks, “And you… ate with them?”

 

John nods. “Sometimes they made me a little bit less hungry so I was looking but there aren’t any and I didn’t know where you put them I’m sorry.”

 

“Hey, don’t panic, kid.” Don’t panic, Bro. “I threw them away. We can find you something better to eat, alright?” No, not alright.

 

“Really?”

 

Shitfuck.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Bro needs to close his mouth. He does so, walks to the hatch in the living room, climbs up to the attic. There’s the tub he hid in the back, sex toys that theoretical social workers did not need to see. Usually he’d throw stuff out the hatch, but these boys are expensive, they get carried gently down the ladder.   
  
One hand on the front door, Bro calls for John, “C’mere, kid.”

 

John asks, “Are we going some where?”

 

“Just down the hall.”

 

This is a stupid idea. Real fuckin’ stupid. Bro locks the apartment behind them and leads John to an unoccupied apartment, room 1525. One tension wrench later, and the door is unlocked. Bro sets the tub on the ground by an old sofa. The rooms are otherwise empty, electricity and water shutoff. Streetlights leak through a window, but the room is dim.

 

“Lock the door, kid.”

 

John does what he’s told, but he looks hesitant.

 

“Why are we over here?”

 

Bro take the lid off of the tub then moves to the far end of the couch. “We need to be here. We never take out these toys in the apartment, alright? Ye gotta be here.”

 

It was a stupid idea. Set a spot like the roof to be the dojo; the house is never the dojo, the house is off-limits. Safe. Arguably. (It’s not.) Guess that makes old ‘25 the sex toy dojo. Fuck, what is he doing.

 

“You tell me when you wanna come over here, and that’s it. This is where we eat, okay John?”

 

“Okay.”

 

“Okay what?” Bro insists.

 

“Okay I can eat.”

 

Close enough. Finally, Bro tells him, “You can take whatever you want from the box there. I’m gonna stay over here.” He should probably go wait in the bathroom. Or anywhere else that isn’t here. He doesn’t.

 

John peeks into the tub. He spends a long time staring then digging around. Finally, he fishes out a clit vibrator. Damn, he could’ve grabbed anything else. Bro has no idea what the kid intends to do with it. He doesn’t have to wait long.

 

John examines the toy with a little frown then tastes it. Bro can’t look away as he runs his tongue across the tip of the toy, presses his lips against the surface. He sets it down on the couch.   
  
“You’ve never used this before,” John states.

 

“Well, no. Those ones are a better shape for a lady friend usually. Or a few particular men.”

 

All too innocently, John asks, “Is there one you can play with?”

 

Bro is completely short-wiring. None of his blood stays in his head, and his belt is way too tight. He’s too slow to answer. John takes a massage wand out of the tub and sucks on the end like a popsicle. He clearly has no idea what it is.   
  
“Bluh. This one tastes gross.”    
  
“Shit, I can wash it for you.” Bro always washes them thoroughly after he’s done; it’s probably just dusty. He hopes it’s just dusty.   
  


The wand gets thrown back in the tub, and the whole thing is pushed away. John pouts, making his lower lip bigger and redder.

 

“These are all dumb. They’re too old to eat.”

 

Does he wear that same pretty pout when Dad refuses to further feed him? What all does he need?   
  
“Bro, my tummy hurts.”   
  
The man should get up, leave, do anything but stay here. He shouldn’t be here in the first place.

 

Watching John cry is even worse than seeing Dave get upset. Maybe it’s natural- Dave is real tough, he’s a good kid- maybe it’s the charm the kid inherited from some type of demon baby-daddy. It doesn’t really matter either way.

 

Dirk pats the cushion next to him.   
  
“C’mere. Tell me what you need, okay?”

 

John crawls across the couch and folds into Bro’s lap. His knee presses against the man’s crotch, and his hands find the cordoned muscle in Bro’s neck. Everything John touches burns. Dirk needs to- to stop by the club and find a hookup, to let loose with a partner, ravage their ass, to pull on his black hair-

 

Bro scritches John’s head, the most comforting gesture he knows. It’s too silky, too thick. It feels good under his fingers.

 

Delicate as glass, John murmurs, “I need kisses.”

 

Dirk takes his gloves off and sets them aside. Then go both pairs of glasses. He presses his nose into that hair, breathes it in. John tugs on his collar with an impatient noise, so he moves on.

 

Gentle as a newborn kit, Dirk kisses John. He takes in the hint of texture of John’s lips, remembers it, files it away for later.

 

The kid wastes no time. He sucks lightly on the corner of Dirk’s mouth, sighs, laps at his lower lip. It’s not quite as soft as their first kiss, there’s so much need. John stretches up so he can tongue Dirk’s pallet, presses harder against his crotch.

 

A pause, space. John is looking at him with this intense, gleeful expression; it looks silly on his face.

 

“You taste good.”

 

Bro starts to ask if John feels better. He doesn’t get a chance; a small hand is shoved in his mouth. John nips his neck, and it drives him crazy. Dirk sucks on those greedy fingers and gathers up two handfuls of ass, kneads ‘em like they’re made of dough.

 

Squeak. John is surprised; he wasn’t expecting the man to move at all. He’s pleased though. He wriggles his hips and bites harder.

 

Damn, Dirk really needs to loosen his jeans. Just a bit. He wants his dick loose, within reach of his palm- of the demon in his palms.

 

There’s a slight haze, a block sitting between one thought and the next. It’s the same feeling as Dad forcing him to talk, only it’s weak and directionless.  _ More, more, more please. _ Damn brat.

 

He’s still coherent, though. He keeps his hands where they are, massages John’s soft rear. But-

 

“I feel kinda funny,” John complains, “My pants are all itchy.”

 

Dirk growls at him, “So take ‘em off.”

 

“Okay.”

 

Kid wiggles out of his pants without so much as a question, drops his boxers too. Goddamn, does he listen to orders and fast; it’s too fucking hot.

 

And now…? 

 

Dirk- he needs room of his own, needs to do something for relief. There’s a box of choice dildos in a crate to his left, he could roll his sweatpants down, sit his ass down right on a toy and be quick with himself, merciless. Kid would only have to wait a few minutes at this rate.

 

John’s thermometer is at red-hot, begging for attention. He rubs at his stomach, way too awkward.

 

“What does yer dad usually make your ‘itch’ feel better, kid?”

 

“Umm, nothing.”

 

His voice goes rough. Bro asks, “What do you want Dad to do?”

 

“I want Dad to- he can feed me better just like Auntie Meenah. She gives me really nice kisses on my boner.”

 

“Yeah?” He’s roiling, boiling, bubbling out the ears he’s so disgusted with himself.   
  
He’s wanted this since long before John kissed him.   
  
“Come here, John. Show me how your Auntie kisses you,” Dirk demands.

 

The cambion moves so he’s standing in front of the couch between Dirk’s legs. He’s timid, no longer quite so gleeful when he slips his hands in the man’s sweatpants. He pulls Dirk’s dick loose, and his fingers fuckin  _ burn  _ all over shit, just being held feels good. John leans over, gives him a kiss that makes him twitch. Then John’s red lips spread around the tip of his cock, Dirk digs his knuckles into the cushion as the kid sucks and bites-

 

Shitfuck ow. Dirk jumps, knocking the kid loose.

 

He hisses, “Shit, that hurts. Who told you needle teeth fucking munchies would make for a nice blowjob?”

 

John gets panicky, rubs his arm where he was shoved. “I don’t know! Auntie never really teaches me stuff, okay? And Dad won’t show me, I don’t know, bluh.” Then he pouts. “Why don’t  _ you _ know anything with your dumb food website? Don’t ask me!”

 

Can’t say no to a challenge like that. Dirk lifts the kid up, swings two small legs over his shoulders. He wraps his mouth around John’s boner and smooth pubic bone, sucks. John jumps.

 

“AAAnmm,” he shrieks, but the sound peters out to a soft hum real quick. John scrambles for a handhold, knocks Dirk’s hat off, grabs onto his hair and pulls.

 

It’s not a human taste. Ash and sex and heat, enough to scald. Remembering, Dirk slides a hand up to finger John’s tail. Round, soft to the touch like his ass. 

 

It gives a little twitch when Dirk strokes it with the pad of his thumb. So goddamn cute. John’s asscheeks clench with every tremble, every second engulfed by Dirk’s mouth. The needy little cambion continues to whine and squeal as his partner holds his hips firmly in his large palms.

 

“MMmm, gimme more!” John cries.

 

“You have to be good to get what you want.”

 

“Fffff- I  _ am _ good!” John’s legs give out a little kick behind Dirk’s ears, throwing himself off balance.

 

Dirk reaches back and clamps John’s ankles in place before the kid can fall. He pulls his mouth off of John entirely.

 

“That's not how good boys act, John,” Dirk hears himself say. It's almost as if he’s watching a beast wearing his skin. Were it not for the fire running through his veins, he’d be certain this isn't him at all.

 

“I’m good! I’m good!” the half-demon wails. Tears threaten to spill from his reddening eyes.

 

Dirk briefly wonders if they taste like human tears.

 

“Do you want me to show you how to be good? If you listen, I promise to feed you more than your Daddy and Auntie.”

 

“Hmph, fine!”

 

John gets set on the sofa.

 

“Lay down.”

 

Dirk stands up and digs a bottle out of their sex supplies. He doesn’t bother tucking himself back into his jeans.

 

The boy lays down in the empty spot and complains, “This is dumb.”

 

“So it’s dumb, then leave.”

 

John doesn’t move. 

 

Satisfied, Dirk instructs, “Good. Now hold still.” 

 

He pulls John’s shirt off, takes a moment to admire soft skin and soft nipples. Then, he leans over and rubs lube all along the inside of John’s thighs, on his taint and the bottom of his ass.

 

The demon squeals and squirms. “That’s cold! And it feels weird.”

 

“I said hold still.” The man stands up straight, takes a step back. The demon is his prey, and he hates it, hates himself. Loves it.

 

“Nooo, my dick still feels really weird. I can’t stand it.”

 

“Then you need to be really good for this next part. You need to listen to me.”

 

“You’re stupid, I am listening! Give me more.” John sniffs once, hiccups.

 

“Alright.”

 

Dirk climbs on the old sofa. His knees rest on either side of John’s legs. There’s hellfire in his chest; he breathes quick. The beast in him doesn’t care about feeding John or about sex. He just needs to take from Daedalus, keep this for himself. 

 

“Hold your legs together. Keep them tight. You got that? Say yes Dirk.”

 

John pouts. He seriously considers his answer before saying, “Yes Dirk. Bluh.”

 

Perfect. Dirk rubs his dick with lube. It only takes one swipe to get himself ready again. He lingers a moment at his head, rubs his thumb at a good spot on the edge.

 

Then, the man places his arms above the little demon’s head. He leans in close, pushes himself against John. His cock slips between John’s thighs with little resistance.

 

“I said keep them tight.” Dirk isn’t loud, but his voice is hard.

 

“I am!”

 

“Tighter.”

 

John squeezes Dirk’s dick. It feels good; of course it does. He needs it. It’s dirty, horrible, and he needs it. Dirk pulls up and drives his hips down hard, slams his weight against John’s thighs without any restraint.

 

The cambion breathes in raggedly, yells nothing into Dirk’s chest, yells for more. He’s confused and uncomfortable, Dirk is hurting him, and it tastes amazing and it’s making his boner worse. He tries to stay still, but it’s hard. He balls his fists in Dirk’s shirt.

 

Dirk is building up pressure quick. He fucks John’s thighs until he feels like an animal and his vision goes blank. He releases himself with a loud moan and squeezes John to him, like that can keep the cambion from ever leaving.

 

When he recovers enough, Dirk finishes sucking John off. The kid screeches and quivers and comes dry with a real pretty face. Quieting down, he stares blankly at the ceiling. His stomach is bloated from sex as though he actually ate.

 

Dirk wipes them off hastily with a soft cloth from the box. Clean enough, he slips an arm under John’s back, pulls the kid to his chest.

 

They’re both quiet. John trembles.

 

“Ugh, I feel too full now. Why are you so bad at this?”

 

Well, it was quiet for a bit anyways.


	4. Chapter 4

The kids are pleased as peppers; they don't even whine after Mr. Egbert returns to pick up John.

 

Dad nods cordially to Bro, and they’re gone. Before Dave can attempt to sneak off, his brother catches him.

 

“Alright, kid. Deals a deal. You’re grounded for the next three days. Turn in all the controllers.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

Bro swats his ear. “Now.”

 

“I’m going, I’m going, sheesh. Never give a guy a break…”

 

They end up with a bin stuffed with a dozen console controllers, a pair each of plain and specialty mouses, and the remotes. As a show of faith, Dave also throws in a few power cables for the turntables.

 

“You nabbed my mouse, too,” Bro accuses.

 

Dave deadpans, “Deals a deal. We’re both grounded big time. You’re on beatdown four days, asshole.”

 

“Off the high horse, ‘Godhead’. You’re out for five. Go put my mouse back.”

 

Dave stands his ground. “It’s staying in the box for a week. I told you we’d both be in trouble.”

 

Right. In the kitchen the other night, Dave caught his Bro staring at John’s ass.

 

“...I need my mouse to get shit done. I work from home, Dave.”

 

“Well, you should’ve thought of that before you slept with John, you stupid ass. You’re fucking unbelievable.”

 

…That got out fast.

 

There goes the rest of Bro’s plans for the next thirty years- John will tell someone else, and he’s going to go to prison. He’ll miss Dave’s high school graduation and twenty-first birthday. Maybe that ironic sendoff when the kid goes to art school or college or whatever. Shit.

 

Are there any party planners that schedule ten years in advance? Bro can bribe Rox to take care of things from prison.

 

These are useless thoughts; he needs to calm down. Carefully, Bro sits down. Start over, operate plans from ground zero, how can they get out of this?

 

Convince the jury he was hypnotized, maybe drugged. No, too much prejudice. John would get treated horribly; they’d stick some type of “offense” on his adult record. Saving himself isn’t worth that, not John. Not John.

 

Flee to a State outside U.S. jurisdiction. New school, new friends, same old porn job. No, that would derail the art school plan. He has to send Dave to the best studio, and that’s not in motherfucking Siberia. Probably. What about monastic art studies?

 

“Bro?”

 

Shit, he’s freaking out Dave now. Time to leave; he must not talk to his kid while experiencing anxiety spikes and mottled judgement. It’s bad form as a parent.

 

Dave grabs his hand.

 

“Hey, do you want to get some icecream? Mindless snow sugar lumps are good for bad days, no matter what Mr. Harley says, and I have eighteen dollars under my mattress, so we can get the biggest one at the Malt House. Terezi says they have an icecream cone ten scoops high, and if you can eat it all without any dripping, they put your picture one the wall. The composition is dumb, but it would still be really fucking cool.”

 

Bro squeezes Dave’s hand and offers him a bunp. He answers, “You’re on man. First person to lose has to clean the bathroom floor.”

 

“Gross, no. Your aim is horrible with your old man penis.”

 

Dave gets punched in the shoulder. “You better win then.”

 

The man will not admit to throwing the competition or sneaking a 20 in Dave’s bag after letting the kid pay. As promised, the staff do a terrible job at photography- they’re part-timers not magicians- so Dave insists he takes the picture himself. Tiny brat.

 

Anyone that questions why Dad regards the younger Strider as a positive influence has rat guts for eyes.

 

///

 

Stripped of their electronics, the Striders end up playing poker and hangman all week. Bro sees how many times he can choose the same secret word before Dave quits. The kid catches on and deliberately picks every letter but E,M,P,S,T,U.

 

On his turns, Dave tries to pick words from the dictionary that Bro doesn't know.

 

“Nice try, little man. Biblioklept is my middle name.”

 

“It is not. Your name is Dirk Bromanian Strider.”

 

Bro stares at him. “Dude. I don’t have a legal middle name. Rox was pulling your leg.”

 

“Liar! You want to sound cool and not have a stupid, embarrassing name like Bromanian. I’m not dumb.”

 

They wrestle on the floor until Dave gets fed up with losing, and they return to their previous game. The brothers draw increasingly ridiculous hanged creatures for three hours. Despite his persistence, Bro gives up first.

 

///

 

That week, there was a phone call, an expected one. Mr. Egbert invited his target of inquery to an early dinner on Thursday evening; the children stayed late to watch the school play with a few of John’s friends, finally offering a window of free time.

 

Thus, here Bro sits, looking over a feast of ribs and mashed potatoes (and salad). He can’t stop picking at the seam of the cushion in his booth. It’s cheaply sewn despite using an expensive fabric. Condensation drips from their cocktails.

 

Dad hasn’t eaten a single bite yet. Why did that conniving gentleman order a plate for them to share?   
  


“Are ye gonna…?”

 

Dad apologizes, “Oh, forgive me. I am a tad nervous; my appetite for human food has been pruned. Please don’t let that stop you.”

 

At least Bro isn’t the only one off his game here. He fingers a slab of meat- ribs- and tucks in. Mr. Egbert puts a single rib on his own plate. He cuts a strip off, nods.

 

“Very good. Grilling isn’t my specialty, but I think this is pretty well made.”

 

“Better than McRibs,” Bro says, trying not to spit.

 

They reach for the same cocktail. Bro snatches it before their hands can touch. Which shouldn't concern him, but Dad is especially working the whole perfectly-trimmed look tonight. He has a well-cut suit with well-polished pins, and Dirk is well-on his way to a halfsie.

 

Bro clears his throat. If he pretends he didn't just steal a drink and stare at his dinner partner, it didn’t happen. 

 

“Lookin’ fancy, Egbert.”

 

“Thank you, you too. It’s not very often that you take your glasses off or comb your hair, yes?”

 

Dad has a hint of a grin; the fucker loves teasing and jokery as much as John.

 

Bro counters, “Nah, I was a vain ‘lil sucker as a kid. Styled my hair daily and matched my heels with my suit jacket. I grew out of all that though.”

 

“Really? I can’t imagine you’d ever wear a suit.”

 

He can’t tell if Egbert is joking this time. Dirk shrugs, “Can’t be helped. All the eyes following me around the club floor embarrass Dave.”

 

Dad chuckles. “Sounds like a perfect reason to wear a suit. We’ll have to get you fitted sometime.”

 

Shit, is he implying he’ll undress Strider himself? When did they start flirting, is that new? Things have been strained since Bro found out tiny Egbert is a baby sex demon, but their relationship hasn’t changed that much.

 

Dad is really hot though. He proved he can manhandle Dirk, using sheer force to trump speed and technique, and he can take some heavy damage. Damn if the man doesn't have some real nice lines to him.

 

That’s a line of thought that needs to be derailed. If Dave “grounded” him for a week when he slept with John, Dad would probably earn him a month. Damn the Egberts and their natural good looks. Or maybe they’re already damned for their incubus traits, who fucking knows?

 

Bro is missing some more important facts. He read that an incubus can smell lust or some shit, but he’s not sure about the children of an incubus-cambion like John. Not that he even knows what Dad is. Would asking be rude? Fuck it, rude is part of his persona.

 

“I got my gossip from Dave, and the kid isn’t good at summarizing or enunciating. What’s the deal with you and John?”

 

A grim look falls over Dad’s face. “I had hoped you’d like to enjoy dinner a little longer before discussing John’s feeding.”

 

Bro raises a brow sharply. “Oh no, hold up there ye handsy baker. Base zero first. You’re an incubus.”

 

Dad is startled right out of his grim mood, he’s so surprised.

 

“An incubus.” Mr. Egbert adjusts his tie, thinking about what to say. “...Mr. Strider, you don’t mean to imply a fully-incarnate demon?”

 

“A sex demon, yeah.”

 

Dad blushes; the Egberts acting immodest? Never. Bro is tempted to chuckle.

 

“Oh… Have you never heard stories of demons, Mr. Strider? They don't make for polite dinner chat.”

 

Bro uncurls a bit. He finally has the upper hand in the conversation, and he’s enjoying it even if he’s still trying to deduce why Dad is surprised.

 

“O’course I have. Lots of real nasty shit. I don’t listen to that crap though. It’s not any different than the shit people say about hookers and pushers.”

 

The man smiles. It’s whimsical; he looks so much like John, it hurts.

 

“You might be right, Dirk.” He stirs his forgotten drink. “I don’t know. I’ve only met two demons, and they’re very dangerous people. My grandmother Meenah is a succubus, and one of her associates is- well, something very old and evil. He’s been feared since the age of Pharaohs. I always thought that’s the way it is, but I wonder if they're really all like that.”

 

Bro shrugs and jumps to the facts. “John’s fourth gen, and he still can’t live off of regular food?”

 

“Unfortunately, yes. Cambions tend to have strong bloodlines by nature. It’s more accurate to think of us as half-demons.”

 

“Implying demons aren’t diploid based but can still sleep with humans to make tiny monsters... Mixoploidy? I can dig it.”

 

That hint of a grin is back. Egbert wants to toy with him.

 

“Precisely, Dirk. You know, I’ve always been interested in intelligent partners.”

 

Fuck, Bro knew it was coming, and it’s still working. He shoves a rib in his mouth so he doesn’t have to answer that. Side note: he’s running out of ribs he can eat to deflect. For dire times, there’s always the salad.

 

“Have you had any steady partners recently, Dirk?”

 

_ Fuck. _

 

He swallows. “Sure, by my personal reference for ‘recently’. Not colloquial use. I’m a patient man.” Strider is chill, he can lower flirt temps. “Senior year of college, I was with one of my professors. She’s a pretty amazing engineer.”

 

“Oh, really? She sounds quite different from your current interests.”

 

Bro maintains a casually flat voice. “Unique is a fitting descriptor. Forget that shit, though. You want to talk about John.”

 

Bro wants to confess. He wants to confess like a dirty sinner and beg for forgiveness, but he doesn’t have the words. Dad isn’t exactly a priest either.

 

“I do. First, please don’t take offense at the question: Dirk, are you willing to accept a sexual favor from me?”

 

God, he wants to say yes.

 

“Shit, man. We’re on decent enough terms. Ye don’t hafta go that far.”

 

“All the more reason for me to be fair to you.”

 

“Nah, tell me what you need.”

 

Mr. Egbert nods. “Alright. Would you allow me to ask you a few questions about my son under coercion? It’s a neat little trick specific to cambions-”

 

Bro is gruff. “-Ye wanna give me another handjob. Like before? Force me to tell the truth.”

 

Trading sex for a handjob is twice as tempting. It feels less like Egbert is desperate and more like he’s initiating.

 

“Please. I want myself to remember the lengths you went to when you thought John was being abused. I appreciate it-”

 

“But I haven't told you some important shit,” Bro admits. He’s being called a liar, and he is one.

 

“Yes. My son is  _ very _ important to me. I need to be as thorough as possible. He needs to be kept safe and healthy.”

 

It’s now or never. Dirk hisses, “I won’t make yeh wack me for a confession, Egbert. I’ll tell you right now. I’m worse than scum growin’ on the underside of a mule; I took advantage of John.”

 

Dad takes a deep breath. “Yes… I know.”

 

“He told you?”

 

“No, he refused his dinner. Too full.”

 

Bro’s lips crack into a frown. He says, “You should’ve called the police already, you fucking moron. I’m awful. I shouldn't a’ laid a finger on him, yet I introduced all ten and enjoyed it. I’m sick.”

 

“Dirk, calm down.”

 

A few other guests are staring. Dirk never raised his voice- he never does- but Egbert is right.

 

“How much do you know?” Bro asks.

 

“Not much at all, Mr. Strider, and I’m trying very hard not to make any judgements at the moment rather than repeat our previous misunderstanding. Do not push me.” His hands are curled into fists. They’re shaking.

 

Bro swallows. He forgot for a moment that he’s pissing off a half demon. It’s painting a thrill down his spine.

 

“Okay. Okay, I own up to my shit, I’ll do your demon interview. Tell me what you need, Egbert.”

 

“Thank you, Dirk. Right now, I think I need dessert to soothe the nerves. Would you like anything?”

 

“A cosmo. For the nerves.”

 

Egbert has the ribs taken away and orders the cosmo and a slice of orange olive oil cake. They’re quiet when their final course is delivered, taking a moment to destress.

 

Dirk catches Dad’s eye here and there; when he sips his drink, when the cambion man wipes his mouth with a napkin. They don’t hold eye contact for too long, standing down each time. No need to fight it out right now, they’ll sort their shit before long. Not here.

 

Dad slides the last bite of cake over to Dirk, offers him a fork to try it. It’s warm, moist, and fragrant from orange zest.

 

Ever the gentleman, Egbert covers the bill. The last of the food and drink is gone. The air is charged like a thunderstorm.

 

They walk through the lot; Dad opens the passenger door for Dirk. Push, shove, relax, stand back. Bro has no idea what is expected of him here. He settles for getting in the car.

 

///

 

The sun tilts towards the edge of the sky. In one hour, the school play will start, two and the kids will need a ride home. Their schedule is running slightly tight considering Egbert is driving them further and further into the city.

 

They pull into the lot beneath a glassy high-rise. Egbert’s sedan is a joke compared to the cars they park between. One is equipped for street-racing and the other is custom down to every last screw.

 

Bro whistles. When he hops in the elevator, he asks, “This where you usually bang other parents?”

 

Egbert presses the button for the top floor, trying not to act flustered.

 

“Of course not.”

 

Bro notices his expression.

 

“Holy shit. You actually sleep around in the ‘rent circle.”

 

Egbert is definitely acting flustered now, full tsuntsun. “It’s not that unusual, is it?”

 

There really isn’t a good reply for that outside of the wildly inappropriate, so Bro keeps his mouth clamped shut. Probably for the first time in his life.

 

They step out at the top floor. Egbert leads them to the penthouse suite. Not a single door they pass has any type of keycard or lock. Bro asks about it.

 

“This is my grandmother’s tower. Meenah’s security team doesn’t let any unwanted guests get this far. There isn’t much point in locking the door.”

 

Bro responds, “Really playing up the ominous factor here. Any other warnings for me?”

 

“If you’d like. I told you before but Meenah is extremely dangerous. Never attempt to see her when I’m not around to protect you.”

 

“I was joking, but thanks for the pep talk.”

 

Dad steps to the end of the hall and holds the door open for Dirk. There’s a lot of fancy shit that Bro will have to catalogue more thoroughly later. For now, he’s trying to get a read on the handful of people in the room.

 

Person A, heavily armed, standing with her body partially obscured from the entrance by a pyramid of champagne flutes.

 

Person B, completely butt-fucking naked, she’s seated on a cushion in front of the lounge chair. Negligible. 

 

Person C, decorative suit, she looks busy scrubbing some suspicious stains from the tiles under the fireplace. Also negligible.

 

Person D, she’s tied to the mast of some type of floor-to-ceiling pirate ship replica. Negligible.

 

Person E, glowing eyes, jet black skin, wild hair fanned out around a pair of horns, skin tight suit. That’s unmistakably the succubus Meenah.

 

She stands up to her full height and extends a claw towards them.

 

“Daedalus! Get your butt ova here n hug it out with ya Aunty Meenah.”

 

Dad is not a small man, but he is engulfed by this woman and her rib-cracking arms.

 

He coughs, “Thank you, Meenah. That’s enough of that, I think.”

 

Meenah lets Dad go only to tilt his head back and kiss him full on the mouth. She gets a whole lot of pointy teeth and tongue involved. Dad doesn't react even when his lip is bit, and blood dribbles down his chin.

 

Then, the woman pats his head and turns to Bro.

 

“Well, get a peep a this hunk. Daeddy said he’d bring a big fish he caught to show off to Aunty Meenah, but you are something else.”

 

Egbert instructs, “Ignore her.”

 

Easier said than done with her tongue suddenly invading Dirk’s mouth. He tries to shove the woman off, but she fixes a steel grip the nape of his neck. She looks Dirk over. 

 

This woman, she’s the type to scowl with all of her teeth.

 

“Oi, Daed, you didn tell me this is John’s fresh fillet. That tiny sailfish is finally flippin eating right for you?”

 

“Meenah, please put him down.”

 

She mutters so only Bro can hear her. “My grandbaby’s bout as playful as a drowned rat, ain’t he?”

 

Bro doesn't answer.

 

“Aww, don’t clam up on me. Are ya shyer than you look?”

 

“Meenah.”

 

The woman sighs. “Fine. Take him. Borrow my bed or whatever, idgaf. Fermented, stinkin guppy…” She throws herself on the lounge chair and props her legs up on Person B’s shoulders.

 

Bro throws her a thumbs up. “Thanks dawg.”

 

“Anytime, anytime.”


	5. Chapter 5

///

 

They cross the room and enter what is presumably the bedroom of John’s great grandmother. The place is littered with more toys and mounts than Bro can count, and the bed looks more like a small stage considering it’s built for about twelve people. Maybe four the size of Meenah.   
  
A moment is required to stop and appreciate the health hazard presented by the butt plugs made from all different metals. There’s a lead one.  _ Lead. _ Does no one see a problem here? Whatever. Bro pockets the solid gold one, earning himself a Look from Egbert.   
  
“Don’t gimme that, Egbert. You’re the one that dragged me into whatever the fuck this hot mess is. We coulda gone  _ anywhere, _ rented a room. Hell, we can still turn around and walk out. Why are we still here.”

 

Despite his words, Bro unzips his jeans and sits on the edge of the bed.

 

Dad explains, “We had to stop by regardless, and we don’t have a lot of time. Ready?”

 

“I was ready hours ago. Seriously, we coulda done this in the car. ‘Aunty Meenah’ might grow on me, sure, but you’re obviously completely out of your depth- a ‘fish on land’, yeah?”

 

Gently, Dad sits so they’re shoulder-to-shoulder. He presses a hand against Dirk’s boxers and rubs his thumb in gentle circles. It’s nice.

 

“I think it’s fair if you know what you're dealing with. Things could end with you tied up to that post out there if you hurt my son, and it will be your own responsibility.”

 

“A macabre damn mood you’re in tonight, Dad. What the hell does that even mean.”

 

“Meenah is not quite as… protective as I am, but she still responds poorly to personal offense. She’s a demon, so she doesn't know how to draw the line and keep things civil either. She could drag Dave into it as a pawn. It’s safer if I interrogate you now and report back to her as head of the family, rather than try to be subtle.”

 

He didn't even think of that. “Well, damn. Shoulda told me sooner instead of dragging me all the way out here.”

 

Bro can feel his will being overshadowed. It comes easy this time, now that he’s enjoying the hand on him.

 

“Feels like a buzz,” Dirk comments.

 

“What did you do to my son?”

 

At the restaurant, Bro had no idea what to say or how to confess, but now the words flow freely from his tongue. Where was this social cheat code the rest of his goddamn mistake of a life?

 

“Fed him. Non-penetrative, didn’t want to bust an ass.”

 

The hand tightens on him for a moment, making him twitch. Dad takes a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure.

 

“From the beginning, Dirk. How did this happen?”

 

“Mm. Kid was snooping through my shit, thought I was asleep. He starts bawling his fuckin’ eyes dry ‘cause he can’t find any dildos and his stomach hurts. Split my heart in two like a carving knife, goddamn.”

 

Bro is getting a bit too tight in his boxers. It’s uncomfortable, but he’s not gonna push it. It’s his fault they’re here.

 

He doesn’t have to say a word. Apparently, Dad is going to accommodate him anyways. His waistband is adjusted so he’s properly tucked, poking out the top. Dad slides his thumb to the base of Dirk’s dick, and they’re still politely separated by fabric.

 

“Thanks.”

 

“Of course. Then what happened?”

 

“The kid and I took a little trip down the hall. I gave him a box full of toys. Tiny brat tossed them aside like garbage and started crying again. John was starving, and I couldn’t take it.”

 

“My son is not a brat.”

 

Bro snorts. Yeah right.

 

Dad asks, “So you wanted to help John? You didn’t want to hurt him?”

 

“No,” Bro shakes his head. “I didn’t want John to be in pain, sure, but it was a filthy excuse. I wanted to get him dirty, pull his hair ‘til he cried, make him into a better toy than any of the crap he threw away.”

 

The words roll out of his mouth; Bro knows they’re true. If he thought anything else before, he was lying to himself. He’s  _ filthy. _

 

Egbert shoves Bro onto his back and makes some kind of unholy sound.

 

Dad starts yelling. He doesn’t have sharp teeth like John, but he’s big and heavy and now he’s on top of Bro. He’s a lot less cute and more terrifying.

 

“You animal, how dare you? John is very precious to me. He’s my blood, my flesh,  _ mine. _ Do you hear me?”

 

Bro can’t lift a finger to defend himself; he’s still deep in the spell. Only getting tugged deeper as Egbert rutts against his leg.

 

“I won’t let you hurt him ever-”

 

The sudden outburst stops. Or at least Bro thinks so, he’s kind of tripping balls here.

 

With another deep breath, Dad tries to compose himself. He lets go of Bro’s shirt and says, “More importantly, you won’t ever do it again, will you? I won’t allow it,”

 

Do what again?

 

Something dangerous, Bro wants to treat John like a ragdoll, but instead he… held the kid gently?

 

“No. I didn’t the first time, I can’t do it again. I want to… I wanted to, but I can’t.”

 

“You didn’t?”

 

Bro rambles whatever thoughts float through his head. “Dave can’t have that, he deserves the best. He’s a crazy little bastard, sure, but I can’t hurt his best friend. Never. Gotta buy him a new Xbox after all this blows over or something. The sucker will forget anything happened. Probably. He has a good memory, and he’s damn smart. It makes the fuckin roof start leaking all over my goddamn face. Call the repairman stat.”

 

The room comes into better focus. Bro clears his throat and says, “Things went tiltways for a hot second. Hit me with your question again, Egbert.”

 

Dad doesn't say anything, just adjusts a bit. How’d they end up all tangle-legged on the bed anyways? Bro pushes himself up and Dadbert here ends up squishing his crotch.

 

_ “Egbert, your fuckin’ knee.” _

 

“Ah, excuse me.”

 

Watching Bro wheeze like a sickly old man for a few minutes gives Dad more time to cool down. The fucker doesn't even climb off of Bro, just shifts so his knee is between Dirk’s legs instead of killing his future butt-children.

 

“...goddammit ...the fuck does an office worker need two hundred pounds of muscle for… cracking open the eggs here, I’ll never get another boner in my life. How am I supposed to sell sex toys like this, I need to file for disability pay.”

 

Dirk clings to the other man and mutters nonstop. Dad is surprised enough to laugh for a moment.

 

///

 

“I suppose I lost my decorum a bit there.”

 

“No fuckin kidding. Wiping off your own hypnosex shit at shark speed?” Dirk takes the gold plug out of his pocket. “We ain't makin any progress here. How about I just walk through what happened step-by-step, save all the syllogisms and truth value shit for later.”

 

“Excuse me, truth value?” Dad asks.

 

“Sure, you hypnotized me to babble about shit I think is true. Gotta dig through all the B.S. about logical values, artificial nature of memories, and chosen existential frame to figure out what the hell I’m even saying that supposedly ain’t false.”

 

Egbert gets a bit sheepish. “I’m not sure I follow, Dirk.”

 

He swallows a sigh. “I spouted some nonsense, yeah? Is a metaphor about ceiling leaks a truth or a lie?”

 

Again, Dad makes a face painfully similar to John’s. His mouth makes a little ‘o’ and his eyes glitter. He’s delighted at the thought when he knows he should be taking this seriously. 

 

“I suppose you think it’s ‘true.’ Fascinating.”

 

He’s so much more handsome when he's not angry. Dirk wants to take him home and kiss him properly. Not here, grandma’s penthouse or whatever. The posturing/threatening is too weird, and Dad isn’t even good at it. He’s clumsy.

 

Bro says, “We’re doing things my way for a bit here. When we’re done, bring down whatever hell-vengeance you got. I’m ready.”

 

Dirk touches the plug to Dad’s mouth and clasps their hands together- fucking sucks for him if it’s not clean.

 

“John picked some random toys from the toy box. Kid has no idea what they do, and I ain’t explaining, just watching. He sucks on ‘em and they taste like shit (not literal shit I hope.) So he starts crying. He’s so hungry his stomach aches. Cause you didn't feed him enough.”

 

Dad flinches.

 

“He says he wants kisses. Forget about why I did it. Nothing matters- I did it, and I’m irredeemable. I pull John into my lap, and I grab his ass, and I kiss him like this.”

 

_ Gentle as a newborn kit, Dirk kisses Dad. He takes in the hint of texture of Dad’s lips, remembers it, files it away for later. _

 

His grip on Dad’s wrist is light. He raises it and touches the man’s fingers to his lips, kisses them. Dad is too big to fit in his lap, but he draws close.

 

Dad mumbles, “It’s soft… this energy of yours.”

 

“Yeah? I ask if he’s feeling better, and the runt sticks a hand in my mouth an’ starts rubbin my dick with his foot.”

 

Dirk moves his hip against Dad’s thigh and sucks lightly on his fingertips. Dad nods and his forehead brushes against Dirk’s hair.

 

“I taught my son better manners than that. He might prick his fingers on my secondary teeth.”

 

“The kid is smart. He musta figured out  _ I only have one set of teeth.” _

 

Dad fakes an innocent expression, getting into the role of a kid hearing this for the first time. “Really? Fascinating.”

 

“Shut it, Egbert. This is when John tries hypnofucking me. I can hear it in his voice, inside of my head is getting five bars.  _ More, more, more please.” _

 

“I’m not sure I believe you.”

 

Bro grins. “You shouldn't. I have no idea how any of this shit works, I tumbled in ass first. Hand first, actually. Your hand. Woulda been real sexy any other day.”

 

The man laughs. “Fair enough. Tell me what John does next.”

 

“He asks for ‘boner kisses’, and I watch him take his pants off.”   
  
Taking to his roll, the man obliges. Something falls to the floor with a dull thud when he takes his pants off. It looks like a large jingle bell that’s trailing from Daedalus by a ribbon.

 

Ignoring the bell, he rolls up his belt and folds his pants and boxers. They make a neat pile on the vanity.

 

“Do you oblige John? With these kisses,” Dad asks.

 

“Can’t say no to him. He breaks me everytime he pouts. Let him go first, though.”

 

“I’m afraid you won’t find me pouting today, but we might be able to get the same results if we play this out, Mr. Strider.”

 

Fabric crumpled; Dad grabs a handful of his shirt. Dirk finds himself pushed over again. He’s weak.

 

_ The cambion moves so he’s kneeling between Dirk’s legs. He’s no longer quite so polite when he slips his hands under Dirk’s waistband. Everything his fingers touch burns. _

 

_ Dad leans over, gives Dirk’s cock a kiss then spread his lips around the tip. Dirk scrabbles at the mattress as the man sucks and bites- _

 

“Shit!”

 

Bro jacks his knee up into Dad’s chest, making him wheeze.

 

“That fuckin hurts, what the hell.”

 

Dad grins. “I’m playing John’s roll in this scenario, aren't I? My son always bites.”

 

“Yeah, and I’ll have matching bruises to show it, Christ.”

 

Bro doesn't get a break to recover. Dad crawls forward until his thighs frame Dirk’s head.

 

Dad says, “Now, you're not going to bite back, are you Dirk? Not against a helpless child.”

 

Dirk has a perfect view from this angle. He hates how much he wants to taste that dick. He hates Dad for it.

 

Without answering, Bro digs his fingers into the meat of Dad’s ass and tugs him forward. Dad follows the motion until he’s bumping against the back of Dirk’s mouth. He’s heavy with the taste of skin, hot. Bro can’t think, can’t breathe.

 

Dad exhales, “Ah, that's good, Dirk. The suckling… I- I’m sure John enjoys it.”

 

The man maintains his composure, and it's maddening. That should be Bro, the easy cool facade. Instead, he trembles as Dad yanks his hair and pulls his head to a better angle.

 

The man snaps his hips forward and shoves himself halfway down Bro’s throat. He’s precise, carefully bordering the line between making Bro cream himself from excitement and throw up. Is that even possible for a regular person?

 

_ “So good. So good,” the half-demon tells him.  _

 

_ Tears threaten to spill from his reddening eyes. _

 

_ Dirk briefly wonders how they taste to a man with an appetite for nothing but sex. _

 

_ “You know how to be good. I can feed you- give you all the seed you want, Dirk. You love how men taste, don’t you?” _

 

It’s layered with condescension, yet Bro squeezes the ass under his fingers tighter, closer. He wants to take and take from Daedalus, but he can't, not tonight. Instead, his mouth is being used as a filthy toy. His throat and scalp, neck and cock all ache.

 

It’s over quick. Dad’s thighs tighten, and he throws his head back. It sounds just like John, the choked-down cry in the back of his throat. Dirk has an addiction, he craves it.

 

No hesitation, Dad pulls out immediately and yanks Dirk’s head to the side. He chokes and sputters up cum. 

 

“You don’t want to swallow too much of that,” Egbert says gruffly.

 

Not much he can do but cough anyways. His throat is destroyed, and desperation is splitting his mind into pieces. Dad helps shift him to his front and pats his back like a goddamn gentleman.

 

“Let me get you something to drink, Dirk.”

 

Without putting any pants on, Egbert walks out the bedroom door. He’s still trailing the stupid jingle bell. Christ, that's undignified.

 

There’s a brief shouting match, then Dad walks back through the door, holding a pair of champagne flutes and a fancy napkin. The bell is ringing urgently on the floor behind him, making light peals. It’s still attached to the ribbon, but the ribbon is partially slack. The thing is ringing itself. Bro is too horny for this bullshit.

 

Dad sets the glasses down and says, “Sorry about that. Here, Dirk. Allow me.” He starts dabbing Bro’s face with the napkin.

 

When the trail of cum is cleaned up, Dad hands Bro one of the flutes.

 

“Rinse your mouth first. Spit.”

 

This is downright humiliating, getting babied by the guy that’s supposed to be angry with him, but he doesn't know the consequences of disobeying. He does as he’s told, spitting into the glass.

 

Dad trades him for the clean flute.

 

“Drink up. You burned off a bit of water.”

 

Dirk glares at him over the rim of the glass, then downs it in one go. While he’s not looking, Dad grabs his dick and jacks it hard.

 

“That’s not- shit...”

 

He finds himself leaning into Dad. Fast and clumsy is what he needs right now, he’s losing his mind. Dad catches his mess with the napkin, tosses it aside, kisses Dirk. It’s gentle. 

 

They're not playing out the scenario anymore. Is Dad still upset? He looks satisfied.

 

Bro hasn't gathered his composure yet, probably won’t until he sleeps for twelve hours. He’s a mess sitting in a stranger’s bed with his dick hanging out of his fly, and he barely remembers why they're here in the first place.

 

Should he even bother explaining the rest of what happened to Dad? They aren’t making a lick of progress. Aside from Dad literally licking Dirk’s lip. When was the last time he just sat and made out with someone for a few hours, college? That sounds nice.

 

///

 

They only get fifteen minutes. From Bro’s pocket, a ringtone plays. Cooly, Bro breaks the kiss and flips his phone open. Can't pass up a call from Dave for anything.

 

“Sup’ lil man.”

 

“Bro, where the fuck are you?”

 

Well, shit. It must be five after Bro-still-has-a-fuckin-hour-left-of-his-date.

 

“I’m a little busy, buddy. You’re at the Captors house, yeah? The play is over?”

 

“Yeah, that was the plan. Sollux’s dad didn't let me get in their car. I think he’s still mad about the two-headed lizard.”

 

The one Dave chopped into “two lizards” and played with. God fucking dammit, Bro forgot about that.

 

“Who’s there right now? Where are you?”

 

“Uh, John and Mr. Lalonde. We’re at the high school.”

 

“John? He’s sposed to be at-” Bro glances at Dad. “-the Harleys place?”

 

That ribbon catches on Dirk’s ankle, and the bell gives a quiet shake. It just moved on it’s own again.

 

Dave explains, “John didn't want me to stay by myself.”

 

Bless the Egberts for being so good with Dave. Managing his life would be magnitudes harder without them.

 

“Wanna put your teacher on the phone, kiddo?”

 

“Sure, dawg.”

 

Their conversation is short. Lalonde offers to take the kids for pie.  _ Apple pie,  _ Dave is ecstatic, and some older kids from the play will be there. The teacher says it's the least he can do for a young, single parent raising a special kid like Dave. Bro wants to tell him to fuck off.

 

Egbert is not  _ pleased _ about the situation, but neither is he perturbed.

 

“Alright, Dirk. We should hurry along. Is there anything else you’d like to share with me?”

 

“I did oral and thigh with a runt. Done, great interrobang. The ball’s in your field now.”

 

Bro unwraps the ribbon from his ankle. Its covered in pastel powder, like a butterfly wing. He gives the bell a shake. It makes a pure tone; Bro imagines lighthearted folk music.

 

The other man jumps and turns bright red, like this is the most embarrassing thing to happen all night.

 

“Dirk, would you please let go of me?”

 

Bro immediately drops the bell. “Let go of you,” he echoes.

 

It’s not a ribbon at all, it’s some type of long, flat appendage that’s brightly colored. Bro finds the end nestled at the base of Dad’s spine. A tail? With a bell shaped rattle. This shit is straight out of someone's clown nightmare.

 

“You... aren't afraid of rattlesnakes, are you?” Dad asks.

 

Right. He already forgot Daedalus is half-human.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Egbert. Am I gonna need an antidote for my dick bite? The beatdown I will bring if it falls off- you’ll wish you got tossed in jail back when this whole douche-debacle started.”

 

The man laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m not venomous. There anyways.”

 

He’s still bright red. The appendage-thing is quickly wrapped around Dad’s waist. He slips on his pants and tucks in his shirt, covering it up.

 

Bro can almost pretend nothing happened.

 

Almost.

 

“Dude. Are you supposed to be one of Saint Nick’s elves or something, what the hell was that.”

 

“Saint Nick- pardon?”

 

Bro insists, “You have a ribbon with a jingle bell for a living fucking limb. Like the spirit of Christmas present or something.”

 

“...That's a rather pleasant interpretation. I’ve been told I resemble a kesilim- some type of jester. Ah, but my doctor said it’s closer physiologically to a rattlesnake, which is common for a cambion so I shouldn't be concerned at-”

 

Bro interrupts him. “Man, ye don't gotta tell me your medical history. Unless you want to. Ain't my business.”

 

“Thank you,” Dad concedes. “Don't tell John about the snake bit? I don't want to scare him.”

 

“Sure.” Dirk neglects to mention that John is terrified of jesters and loves Dave’s dead reptiles.

 

Wow, there is a lot to unpack in that sentence right there.

 

///

 

“So...”

 

Enough screwing around. And screwing. They’ve been avoiding the most important point all night. Bro gets himself properly packed away.

 

Just ask him the question. Dirk is the president elect of cool city, it is him. He's totally not hopping from one hole he dug for himself into another. He doesn't even know how to dig holes. He got fired from Camp Green Lake day one.   
  
He can’t ask. He hates something about Daedalus in a way that makes him want to get mud on this guy's perfectly shined shoes every morning and use his toothbrush every night. He can’t stand the idea of this man having control over his life and tossing him off the metaphorical cliff. Rejected.

 

He has to ask.

 

Bluntly, Bro questions, “Are you gonna help me get out of this shitstorm or turn me in? No hard feelings.”

 

The question startled Dad. “Oh, Dirk, how could you even ask? I would never- I couldn’t-  _ Dirk, you stupid man.” _

 

Dad grabs his arm and squeezes lightly. Trying to comfort him?

 

“I am very angry, yes,” Dad explains, “but I still care for your wellbeing. I would never turn you down. So my answer is yes! Besides, we did wear down a few of the rougher edges tonight. ”

 

“I hurt your kid.”   
  
“I know. I… need to start feeding him more.”

 

“I  _ took advantage of a starving kid.” “He’s starving,  _ Dirk. I don’t even get out enough for myself, but he’s  _ mine, _ and I refuse to send John to Meenah again.”

 

Dad is squeezing his arm hard enough to bruise.

 

Life is asinine, and Bro should have his number one priority pinned and labeled DAVE STRIDER. Instead, he says, “I’m here, man. A babysitter, a little extra cash, help finding a decent hooker or some toys, one phone call is all you need.”

 

“Thank you. It's a lot to ask, but I suppose you already volunteered once. Perhaps... you could help feed my son? I think you were gentle enough this evening. Oh, maybe you should be supervised as well. Then, no one will misconstrue what happens with you and John.” Dad adds quickly, “And we’ll need to work out some other concrete rules, of course. There are very important limits you shouldn't even think about crossing. I’d rather discuss it than trust your discretion if I’m being frank.”

 

Dad’s hands are shaking, he’s talking too fast. This is clearly the last thing he wants to do. Seeing this man so desperate is disgusting. It should never happen.

 

Breath falling short- Dirk feels like he's choking on his own lungs. He can’t say  _ no, _ but it's not his choice.

 

“Listen, Dad. It’s going to be hard enough getting the kids to stay silent as is. Something happens again, and Dave will be living with Rox by the end of the month. I’ll be out plotting how to replace the state prison’s top mustache so I can smuggle in condoms and My Little Pony DVDs. I’m sorry. Anything comes up that I can help with, I will.”

 

And not get killed. He and Dad already know what prison gangs do to babyfuckers, but he’s pretty confident it would take two hours tops to escape. It’s not a concern right now.

 

Egbert certainly isn't concerned. He makes that stupidly cute widemouthed expression again. Almost pleased?

 

“Don’t you worry about that at all, Dirk.” He laughs. “You’re so clever, I guess I assumed you were already asking me- but you’re never so presumptuous are you? I don't want you to be arrested ever. If you're part of my family, you can’t get in trouble for feeding my son, okay? Everything will be legal.”

 

Oh.

 

Dirk is officially denser than uranium, he is the fool. He never even considered asking Dad to…

 

“You proposing, Egbert?”

 

“I think we should enter a domestic partnership for at least half a year, yes. That should be long enough to get you out of a bind here.”

 

That's every anxiety pricking at Dirk’s mind- gone. 

 

Damn, Aunty Meenah’s penthouse must have a burst pipe dripping on his cheeks. Plumbing in this city is goddamn abysmal.

 

Egbert adds, “Oh, and my grandmother will help us. One of her contacts can expedite registration. We can have a partnership complete and State-recognized before John visits his counselor tomorrow morning. Everything will be fine.”

 

So that’s why they’re here, not to threaten Bro.

 

“...Thanks, Dad.”

 

Dirk isn't a hugger, but the Egberts are. He loops one arm behind Dad’s back and… kind of pulls a bit? It's clumsy but sufficient for now.

 

“...Pretty daring of you, proposing during our first date. Don't think I can top that whirlwind courting technique.”

 

Dirk has no idea what to say beyond his usual snarky bullshit. There’s no way any of that can get his gratitude across. Being domesticated like a sheep will involve some lifestyle changes, but not as many as moving to Siberia.

 

Dad waves him off. “I don't know if I’d call it courtship. I can't even offer you fidelity since I need variation in my diet.”

 

“Oh, thank yer god fucking cockhead for that. I woulda failed that clause month zero.” Dirk smirks. “The other clause still stands. Rich or poor, sick or more sick, hit me up for even the dumbest shit you need. Only the raddest setup allowed for you and John for the next six months.”

 

That really gets a proper, chest-deep laugh from this prim man. He says, “That’s marriage not partnership, Dirk. I can’t physically enter a Protestant church, you know.”

 

“Fuck you. Outdoor marriages are a thing, an’ the point was clear.”

 

“Yes, it was. Thank you, really. Now, how should we tell the kids?”


End file.
